Ecclesiasticus 44:1-10,13-14

Let us now sing the praises of famous men,
our ancestors in their generations...
...Some of them have left behind a name,
so that others declare their praise.
But of others there is no memory;
they have perished as though they had never existed;
they have become as though they had never been born,
they and their children after them.
But these also were godly men,
whose righteous deeds have not been forgotten; Their offspring will continue forever,
and their glory will never be blotted out.
Their bodies are buried in peace,
but their name lives on generation after generation

From "The Rubaiyat" by Omar Khayam (Fitzgerald translation)

Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears
today of past Regrets and future Fears:
Tomorrow—Why, Tomorrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years.

For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest, Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to rest.

And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom, Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend—ourselves to make a Couch—for whom?

OLD GENEALOGY POEM

The limbs that move, the eyes that see,
Those are not entirely me.
Dead men and women help to shape
The mold which I do not escape

The words I speak, my written line,
These are not uniquely mine.
For in my heart and in my will,
Old ancestors are warring still,

Celt, Roman, Saxon and all the dead,
From which rich blood my veins are fed,
In aspect, gesture, voices, tones,
Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone.

In fields they tilled, I plow the sod,
I walk the mountain paths they trod
And round my daily steps arise,
The good and bad of those I comprise.

By Richard Rolle—written over 600
years ago.

GOD BLESS US ALL!

GOD BLESS AMERICA!

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